


The Followers

by Sunevial



Series: The Black Stars [1]
Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Fan Characters, Gen, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunevial/pseuds/Sunevial
Summary: The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.





	1. The Lieutenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.
> 
> First of their number, the Right Hand of the Murder God.

Night was falling behind the hills, casting shadows in every direction until the land was bathed in an eerie twilight. The man idlily tossed a small dagger in between his fingers, his gaze wandering towards the small town resting in the valley below. What a change from all those years ago, the roads paved with rough cobblestone instead of blood, the winds carrying the sound of laughing children instead of the wails of newly widowed wives. And of course, he was now up here instead of running between the houses, his blade gleaming with dark magics and a wicked smile across his face.

It was so quiet, so peaceful, so calm, so…so incredibly boring.

With a sigh, he tucked away the knife and stretched out his dark wings. He was dressed rather simply all things considered: just a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. His long chestnut hair was combed back out of his face, well kept, just like his neatly trimmed beard. If he served any other god, maybe he’d be called an angel or a guardian or something along those lines, and maybe he’d actually dress the part if he did have an impressive title like that. But he wasn’t anything quite that fancy. To Her enemies, he was just Her right hand, one of the few beings in existence who had talked back to her and hadn’t been made part of her little game, and generally the most feared of Her servants. Well, at least, he had been, back when people still remembered Her name and didn’t just think her a fairy tale to tell to misbehaving children.

But if he was right about that sign, that was about to change.

“My dear Lieutenant, why exactly did you think a stunted old tree was a good place to take a nap?” She asked, appearing out of the vast nothingness of the plain. “It’s really dull here and there’s some really weird history associated with this place, hm. Oh that’s right, you’re the sentimental sort.” The years certainly had changed her fashion sense, given she was sporting a red dress and heels instead of…well, whatever the Captain had worn before wasn’t really important in the grand scheme of things. But her hair was still the same short blond cut it had always been, framing her delicate six eyes and pointed ears.

“You are looking well, Captain,” he said, pushing up to his feet. Even with the heels, he still dwarfed her. “Still getting enough sleep? Eating well?”

She snorted and let out a cackle, her fangs glistening in the starlight. “Oh honey, that’s cute that you still think I need either of those things. It would warm my cold dead heart if it existed in the first place. Anyways, I can see that you got my message.”

“It was difficult not to,” he said with a shrug, rubbing the back of his neck and pulling out a small knife out of his pocket. It was a strange strange piece of weaponry that didn’t really seem to exist in three dimensions, always appearing flat from every angle it was viewed. “You are awate most gods send animal messengers or dream omens, not a knife through a jacket sleeve, yes?”

“Well, we both know I’m not like most gods,” she said with a smirk and a small sigh. “You’ve always been one of my strongest supporters, you know. Most people tend to back out, but no, not you, you’ve pretty much backed me up from day one.”

“Beings like us seem to have little choice these days, given that otherwise, no one will believe us.”

“That’s adorable. You’re adorable,” she said in deadpan. “So, where just are the others who so foolishl-I mean…my other followers who have devoted their time and skills to help further the cause?”

The man rolled his eyes a little. “Scattered to the winds after the games ended, but I figure I can find them in one way or another,” he replied with a mischievous smile, spinning the dagger on his finger. “So, I see they’re up and running again?”

She gave a sadistic grin back. “Oh yes they have. Finally brought some…rogue elements into the mix this time. Not exactly intentionally, mind you, but I think this will be one of our best runs yet if we play our cards correctly. And to do that, I need the full crew because I only have six eyes and the players and our audience are getting rowdy. And no one likes a rowdy show, now do they? Doesn’t exactly make for a good story.”

“It seems the gusts and gales are going to be my friend tonight then,” the man said with sigh. “Stick to your game preparations, Captain. I will rally the others.”

“Aww, you’re too good to me, really,” she smirked, stretching out her arms and looking up into the stars. “You know, sometimes I do miss those days when we were all out there together, waging wars against the mortal meatsacks and doing the dirty deeds ourselves, but let’s be honest, that was kind of messy and it was really hard to get the mud off of everything. No, no, this is much better. Much cleaner. Much more dramatic. And much more fun. But you five deserve a little fun of your own. So, I think it’s time we brought this back out.”

With a snap of her fingers, a banner appeared at Her feet. Dyed a deep red, it showed a the silhouette of a woman with a crooked halo framed by a triangle. Four smaller stars surrounded the triangle, all equal distance from the larger star on her chest. There were some words there as well, written in some script no mortal could read and he had not used in some time. But he knew what it said. All who saw the banner knew what it said.

The man scooped it up, the familiar weight resting in his hands like an old friend. Unfurling his wings, he opened his mouth and out bellowed something equally comprehensible and eldritch, leaping into the sky with the flag flapping wildly in the winds. Her cackles rung out below him, twisting and turning into something so horrific that the sleeping townsfolk below woke up in a cold sweat to her laughter. As he climbed higher and higher, the words he shouted were already echoing out to all corners of the earth. It was time they all knew the truth. It was time for them to remember.

“Hear me, old friends, for tonight, the Followers of the Murder God ride!”


	2. The Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.
> 
> Next on our list, the Alchemist Supreme.

A peculiar smell wafted through the dimly lit store, weaving through the hanging plants and seeping into the wood paneling. No one who ever visited her little corner of the world could correctly guess just what it was, or maybe more accurately, no one wanted to guess just what it was. The woman had that sort of reputation. Rumors floated on the wind that she was versed in the use of potions, mixing her own infernal blood into concoctions to fuel rituals to an evil god. If she had a name, no one used it. Young and old alike just called her a witch.

The woman chuckled a little, mixing a little bit of powdered belladonna into her mortar and pestle and grinding it into the thick paste. She was young, or at least, everyone told her she looked young with that bobbed hair. Her clothes were casual enough: button up skirt, tank-top, and a loose off the shoulder blouse that exposed a small black star along her collarbone. Those townsfolk, with their wild imaginations. It wasn’t like every expecting woman bought small vials to ensure both mother and child came out well, or that jilted lovers came in the dead of night seeking her strongest draughts of poison. It wasn’t her fault the dying banged at her door early in the mornings, begging for a cure for their illnesses, nor her fault that vengeful men slipped through her back door, asking for death curses.

Well, those townsfolk got one thing right about her. She was indeed a witch. Or rather, she was The Witch, blessed with blood magics and Her only servant who could also manipulate the strings of life and death.

The woman remembered playing the game. She did not necessarily remember dying. Back when the world was young and wild, the Captain did not have enough souls yet to run games out into infinity. But there were still plenty of living people She could play with. Not as many opportunities for new scenarios, perhaps, but the show had to go on.

The woman remembered arriving. Coughing smoke out of her lungs, she stumbled into a small village along with nine of her closest friends and family, the ten of them fleeing the roaring flames. A blonde woman with incredibly short hair greeted them with kind words and open arms, saying they could eat, drink, rest, and be merry. The next morning brought the sight of her best friend, lying in a pool of blood. Those horrid nights continued, terrifying and all too long. One by one, her closest kin dropped like flies even as after they found one of the horrible werewolves. And all the while, the blonde woman just watched and smiled. No one ever thought to question her. No one dared.

The woman remembered that night. It had been the ironically named witching hours, the darkest time of night when good folk rest their heads and only foul things walk the earth. She awoke to claws glistening in the moonlight. There was so much blood. Her blood. But she, the daughter of a medicine man, had remembered her father’s tricks. Grasping blindly in the dark, she grasped a small cup she had prepared many moons ago. Her body in agony, she let some of her blood drip into the mixture, releasing a terrible metallic smell, before hurling it at her attacker. There was a screech as the concoction burned away fur and rendered flesh from bone, and the killer collapsed in a pile on the dirt floor. Gasping for air, she took a second cup and drained the contents, feeling the wound in her stomach slowly knit itself together before she passed out.

The woman remembered that morning. When sun rose over the horizon and all could see what happened, she noticed the blonde woman’s face contorted into a sneer, showing a small glistening fang. Then…she raised an eyebrow and smiled.

With fear and truman laced in their eyes, the few straggling survivors disappeared into the wilderness. The woman stayed behind, resting in the little house and waiting for the inevitable. She could not leave even if she wanted to. The Murder God had been cheated out of a death, and that just wouldn’t do at all, now would it? That was alright by the woman. She had seen Her power, the way she played with life and death as if it was a child’s toy, bending reality to her whims and desires. It was not so unlike the small magics she already possessed. She would prove to Her that she would be more useful alive than a permanent member of Her games.

The Captain seemed to think the same.

“This is a nice little place you have made for yourself. Adorable, cozy, warm…” a familiar voice said as the back door was pushed open. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as a man with large wings stepped out of the pantry, “…just like it’s owner.”

“Eons of not seeing each other and that’s the first thing you say to me?” the woman stammered, her cheeks flushing a bright red. She quickly turned her gaze back to her potions, setting the mixture aside and picking up a knife to chop some fresh ginger. “Screw you.”

“Is that a challenge?”

The screech that followed deafened the neighbors she didn’t have.

“It is always amusing how easy you are to mess with,” the man said with a chuckle, giving her a small pat on the head. “You do not seem overly surprised to see me.”

“No, I’m absolutely shocked. It’s not like everyone and their mother heard that scream or anything,” the woman said with a shrug, dumping the cut ginger into a small bubbling cauldron. Picking up the mortar and pestle, she scooped out three large spoonfuls of the mixture. There was a flash and the murky liquid was smoother than glass and just as clear. “So, how did you find me?”

“There are few witches left in the world these days and word travels fast. The others are a bit more difficult, but then again, that is more of your job,” he said with a slight smile. He crossed the kitchen in a single stride, raising an eyebrow towards the cauldron. “Remind me what else you need?”

“The knife,” she said, holding out her hand. With a small flourish, he pulled the ethereal dagger out of his pocket and placed it in her open palm. Taking her ring finger, she pricked it on the dagger and slowly drew out a thin stream of blood, letting it curl and wrap around the blade in a spiral. With a quick jerk of her hand, she sliced the stream free and let it fall. The blood snaked down the blade and hit the strange mixture, pooling into little red droplets along the surface. There was nothing. Then…the image of a forest they both knew all too well.

“Perfect,” he said with a smile, going to the door and holding it open. She obliged, stepping out into the cloudy night and looking back on the little shop. And then they were gone, store and all, leaving only the same strange metallic smell to float along the winds.


	3. The Huntress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.
> 
> Continuing the story, the Expert Markswoman.

A deer fled from the clearing, bounding over a mother rabbit with four young ones cowering in the bushes. With distressed chirps, dozens of birds flocked to the skies, scattered by something all animals knew to fear. Even the bees and the butterflies seemed put off, burying deep within the wildflowers. The sound of rustling of leaves filled the air, except it wasn’t the slow deliberate rustles of a hiding wolf or a cunning fox. They were heavy steps, made not by some large mammal, but from the most dangerous creature that could roam the wilderness. The deafening bang that followed only confirmed her suspicions. Gunshots.

The woman sneered as she pulled herself up onto a branch. Humans, such disgusting creatures. Spreading out of their habitats at an alarming rate, invading spaces like a plague, yet so easy to pick off. She carefully peered out from her hiding place, slowly tying up her dirty blonde hair into a ponytail. While she was not especially tall, she made up for it in musculature. Sporting a green tank top, camouflage pants, and sturdy combat boots, she blended effortlessly into the foliage. Now comfortably perched in a tree, she reached into her quiver and knocked an arrow made with blood red feathers to her longbow. She’d let her prey come to her.

There weren’t many tales of The Huntress to begin with, but there had always been whispers of the woman who was sent to track down Her enemies, firing silent arrows that always found their mark. The woman always found those little whispers humorous. True, perhaps, but grossly incomplete.

No one spoke of her life as a general of great renown, leading her people to victory after victory. Well, at least until her home was razed to the ground by a rival band of Amazons, that is. In her rage and grief, a strange blonde haired woman appeared out of the darkness, offering her the chance for revenge, a chance to enact her justice if she would just so happen to serve her after it was all done. So, she did the logical thing. She accepted, killing every last man, woman, and child within the rival encampment until her hands were stained blood red and nothing but her anguished howls were heard on the wind. And the woman, the blonde woman with too many eyes just standing there with a wide smirk. 

And she then saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing as the ground opened up below her and she tumbled into darkness.

Few dared bring up her time as a game player. A sailor, a knight, a noble woman, a vampire, Dreliza, Mary, Janice, Caroline, game after game after game until names and identities became meaningless and all that mattered was to survive. But the more she played, the more bits and pieces of her previous life sparked in her mind. She kept these thoughts to herself, not wanting to draw Her attention any more than she had to. The woman did not fear Her like the others did. No, she respected Her, respected Her power and respected Her authority. But she wanted to be more useful than just a mindless pawn.

No one knew just how she got out. No one, that is, except Her. It was a game, just like all the others. And she had lost. Her heart raced in her chest, sweat dripping down her back as her feet hit the stones below. She could only watch as the killer slowly advanced, shifting from an innocent child into a snarling monster. Except it wasn’t real. None of it was real. She was dead and had been dead for centuries, just like the poor soul before her. They were all dead. What did it matter if they won or lost? They’d all still be stuck here, endlessly playing Her game in this hellscape. But she was done running, done being defenseless. She’d died a weapon in hand, and she’d be damned if she didn’t go down this time without a fight.

Maybe it was desperation that brought her to do what she did next. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was sheer good old fashioned spite. Whatever it was, she instinctively reached for something on her back and felt her fingers wrap around a piece of thin wood. In one motion, she drew her bow and fired. It flew true, piercing the werewolf’s throat and turning the hulking mass into a pile of fur on the cobblestone. A small chuckle escaped from her lips, a chuckle that turned into hysterical laughter as she fell to her knees and turned her face to the sky. The Murder God could do whatever She wanted at this point. She didn’t care. She won. She beat the game.

And then she awoke in reality, a bow in hand and a red tattoo on her left shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Huntress,” a voice said, familiar and welcome given the circumstances. The woman glanced over her shoulder, still keeping an eye on the open clearing. A man perched in the branch next to hers, his dark raven wings folded behind his back. “You’re looking well this morning.”

“Lieutenant,” she replied with a small nod of her head and a small smile. “I am doing well, thank you very much. Just heard some rats in the bushes, you know, nothing big.”

“Our apologies for interrupting your hunt, then,” he said with a chuckle, stretching out his arms and yawning a little.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Our?”

“Down here,” another familiar voice said from below. A small woman sat on one of the lower branches, casually swinging her legs and waving one of her arms. “I love the blood stains on your cheeks. Really brings out your eyes.”

“Why thank you, Witch, I did it just for you,” the woman said with a little wink. The Witch returned with a giggle. “So, what brings you two to this little corner of hell?”

“It’s reality, not the Captain’s gameworld,” the Lieutenant replied with a sigh.

“Hey, I’ve been to hell, I can safely say anywhere I am happens to be hell,” the woman retorted as more rustling filled the air. All three turned to the clearing, watching as three men stumbled out of the thick foliage with hearty laughs on their lips. Dressed in thick flannels and off-brand camouflage, they all cast long shadows in the early morning light, the once human shapes stretched and warped until the rifles on their backs were barely recognizable. A deer was draped over the tallest one’s shoulders, the bullet wound still fresh in its side.

“You know…this is technically sacred ground,” the Witch said, inspecting her fingernails.

“Given it is Huntress's old wood, that would stand to be true,” the Lieutenant replied, leaning his back against the tree trunk and closing his eyes. “Pretty sure being here and taking life without permission is blasphemy of the highest order.”

“You know, I was just thinking the same thing, how weird,” the woman agreed, shifting to a more comfortable angle. “What are you guys thinking? Feeling like some good old fashioned murder?”

“The Captain is always in need of new players,” the Lieutenant said with a smirk, drawing an ethereal knife from his pocket and holding it up to the light.

“And it has been awhile since we did anything together,” the Witch added, pricking her finger on a small thorn on her bracelet.

The Lieutenant sat up and outstretched his wings. “Shall we deal with these heathens and continue on our way?”

The woman grinned, aiming through a small gap in the leaves. “The one with the deer is mine.”

Their bodies would never be found, not after the three of them had had their fun. No, the three hunters were doomed to live on in missing posters and painful memories. Not even their death screams would grace the halls of their version of hell. The only thing that remained of the men was a pair of bloodstained antlers resting in the center of the clearing, cradling a single shattered rifle.


	4. The Advisor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.
> 
> For our next installment, the Scholar from Worlds Unknown.

“I…I just don’t get it…he was supposed to be here an hour ago,” a woman in a black sweatshirt mumbled, hugging one arm around her stomach and scrolling through her phone with the other. Slightly off balance, fidgeting with the cloth in her free hand, lips pursed, eyes shifting back and forth; well, at that point she was just lying through her teeth. This obviously wasn’t the first time this had happened. Taking another look at the woman, a small image faded in and out of existence over her head: a man kissing a woman who was most certainly not the desperate one on the phone. Oh what a pity.

“Excuse me, miss, pardon my interruption, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” the young man said, tapping the other woman on the shoulder and offering a small piece of paper. He smiled sympathetically. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you this, but I think you might want to call this number. Oh, and just so you know, it’s not her fault, she has no idea what’s going on.”

The woman hesitated, gingerly reaching out for the slip of paper. “I…I’m not sure I understand…” she stammered, her words trailing off once her fingers brushed the fresh ink. She furrowed her eyebrows, darkness spreading out from her irises and swirling within her pupils. Snatching the paper out of his hands, she stormed out of the library with fire just about bursting from her shouts. _“That son of a-”_

The young man just sighed and shook his head, his long white hair brushing across his face as his footsteps carried him into the endless rows of bookshelves. He blended in with the other academics roaming the aisles, his long white jacket draping over a crisp dress shirt and brown slacks. Well, he was fairly certain she wasn’t going to do anything that rash; she seemed to have a fairly good head on her shoulders and this was just the last proverbial straw. Then again, it would be far more interesting to see just how far off the rails she could go, see if this action would lead her to something more…drastic. But that wasn’t _precisely_ his job. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

His fingers trailing along the book spines, images faded in and out of his vision. The Lieutenant with the Captain, the Witch at her potions, the Huntress stalking her prey, the slaughter at the clearing, the screams of the newly damned. He smirked, waving the scenes away with a hand. A fight? Without him? Well, he wasn’t too terribly upset about missing the fun; his place had never been on the battlefield proper. He was The Advisor, after all, the one who brought Her information that no one else could ever dream of discovering.

Maybe he had once been mortal; the details had always been somewhat up for debate and all anyone could discern is that at one point he did not exist, and at another point, he did. Whatever the case, he had never been precisely normal. Whereas most living things with any ounce of sense were drawn to structure in one way or another, he was always drawn to whatever option opposed that of the masses. He had a hunger for the contrary, for the strange, for the weird, and he sought it out whenever he could, twisting the universe in strange ways that seemed to ignore the laws of reality.

It was really inevitable that he would come across whispers of the Infinite Game, an endless cycle of death and rebirth lead by a woman no living mortal could really describe. Even rarer still were the whispers of people who had seen the games but did not play themselves, saying they had watched from the sidelines while the doomed played on for the audience’s twisted enjoyment. While he had first dismissed the rumors as nonsense, he slowly felt his curiosity get the better of him and felt every fiber of his being pulling him towards the games. So, the young man did what he did best and scoured the earth for information, pouring through tomes and asking anyone with connections to the worlds beyond. When he had exhausted them all, he was approached by a woman with short blonde hair and beckoned through a door he was certain had not been there before. She spoke rapidly yet in great detail, explaining how she had heard of his wish to see one of the games, and how she could very easily fulfill that wish if he so desired. To this day, he still blames lack of sleep for agreeing as quickly as he did.

He would give credit where credit was due; She did hold up her end of the bargain. He did indeed get to see one of the games. As it turns out, however, the easiest way to see one of the games was to become one of the players.

That is how he found himself standing in a strange mystical landscape with nine other people he could clearly see were irrefutably dead. While annoyed, and more than a little fearful of what would happen to a living player who died among a sea of the damned, he was not about to play entirely by her rules. As it turned out, though the majority of his powers were sapped by the rules of the realm, he still had one left at his disposal. Each time the sun dipped below the far horizon and the moon rose into the starry sky, he reached out into the minds of his fellow players and peeked at what She had assigned them this time around. Each time the moon fell beyond the clouds and the sun shone down upon the bodies, he stilled his tongue and carefully interjected when needed, steering the other players away from the innocents and towards the ones he knew without a doubt were causing this madness. Each time he did, he could feel Her increasing frustrations and Her unending curiosity. As the games had already begun and there were technically no rules in Her favor, She could not stop him.

In the end, they ended up losing just four members of the game between clever guesswork and a heavy heaping of luck. The young man simply breathed a sigh of relief and watched as the other players were swallowed up by the earth as the world collapsed, fully expecting the wrath of the Murder God to drag him down into the abyss alongside his new companions. Instead, he watched as a slender hand reached down out of the unending sky. Faced with the certainty of death or the uncertainty of whatever lied ahead, he knew he had really only one option.

He jumped and grabbed Her hand.

He stopped at the last tome on the shelf, gingerly removing a large red book bound in leather and emblazoned with five pointed stars. Out of place for a modern place such as this, but no one seemed to really notice it was there at all. A smile crossed his face. So, the wards had worked after all. Opening the book to a seemingly random page, he ran his finger along the words as the library bubbled away and was replaced with the bustling sounds of a street corner cafe.

Satisfied, he closed the book and turned the corner. Of all the tables outside the busy cafe, only one had any people at all. Weaving through the maze of chairs, he took a seat at the last open chair at the table. It was even set with silverware and a glass of ice water.

“Had we known you would be joining us, something more substantial would have been waiting for you after she finished her workings,” the Lieutenant said with a smirk, pointing his head at the Witch and setting down a cup of tea.

“I even got the good mint tea,” the Witch said with exaggerated sarcasm and a smirk, slowly sipping from the steaming mug.

“What can I say, I got bored,” the young man said with a smile, setting the book down on the metal table. “Besides, I figured I save you all a few dollars.”

“And us a trip out,” the Huntress replied, taking a large swig of something presumably alcoholic. “Well, now we’ve got Righy here, our lovely Witch, our Advisor, and of course, yours truly.”

“Do not call me that. Just one more to find it seems,” the Lieutenant sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It will be...nice to once again see my partner. Speak, Advisor, where should we be looking to find our final lovely lady?”

The young man simply picked up the glass and plucked an icecube between two of his fingers. Holding it up to the light, a vision sparked in the back of his mind. Starting out as not much more than garbled nonsense, the message quickly became clear as the sunlight pierced through the frozen crystals. A strange smile split his face as water dripped down his fingers and into his palm.

“Oh, we should go and find her alright,” he said, tossing the melting ice into a nearby bush and opening up the book once again. “I think we’re going to be in for a most _interesting_ surprise.”


	5. The Old Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.
> 
> Last of the Generals, the Oldest Friend.

“Aww man, I really liked this dress,” the woman said, inspecting the bloody bullet wound in her stomach with mild fascination and a heaping pile of annoyance, mindlessly brushing a bit of her chestnut colored hair behind one of her ears. “I mean, come on, it fits well, it’s super soft, it has pockets, and now there’s a big ol hole in it. Don’t get me wrong, I can fix it, but man is this gonna be a pain in the butt.”

She got nothing from the man at the other end of the alleyway; he was too busy shaking like a newborn baby bird to even aim the handgun properly, much less give any sort of verbal response beyond a squeak or two. Taking off her glasses, the woman polished the dirty lenses with a small corner of the dress that wasn’t currently bloodspattered. It had been a pretty good day up to this point between visiting the art museum and stopping at a food truck parked somewhere within the sprawling expanses of the local park. But this? Well, this would just be the icing on the cake. “What, you’re not gonna say anything? You sure talked a lot when you were pointing that thing at me and demanding everything I have in my purse, which by the way, really isn’t very much,” she continued, slipping the frames over her eyes and watching the world come into focus. Ah, much better. “There’s nothing to be worried about, sweetie, I just want to-”

The man bolted, dropping the gun and sprinting for the open city streets. He got maybe three steps before tripping over a rock that had definitely not been there a second ago, hitting the rough concrete and skidding into the building towering over the alley.

Wispy tendrils shot out from the bricks and wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him against the wall. With a small giggle, the woman reached out into the shadows and pulled them in around her body, enveloping herself in a large swirling spiral of darkness. Barely a second had passed before she clenched her open palm into a fist and broke the spell, shattering the magic and letting the shadows fade into the last shreds of daylight. The tattered dress and sensible sneakers were gone; a knit sweater cape now fell over her shoulders, gracefully caressing a floral skirt around her hips. Her legs were covered in dark tights and ankle wedges were strapped to her feet, giving her a couple extra inches that had not been there before. A small knife rested in one of her gloved hands.

“You know, I don’t think I ever introduced myself,” she said with a wicked smile, slowly walking towards the man. “’I’m the Old Priestess. A pleasure to meet you.” His eyes were wider than dish plates, the gleaming metal on the knife reflecting in his irises. He frantically pulled at the wispy restraints and opened his mouth to scream only to find he could not speak at all. She could feel his fear, smelled it on his skin heard it in his struggle to break free. To live. It was admirable. And futile.

In one motion, she swung the knife and plunged it into his heart.

“Wow, that was a lot of really unnecessary drama and flair for what ended up being your average everyday stabbing,” a voice said in deadpan, accompanied by a very deliberate slow clap. A woman with short blonde hair stood just a few feet away, leaning her back up against the adjoining building. “I really should go back to giving out my ‘Most Unneeded Theatrics Award’ because congratulations, Old Priestess, you just won it for the next three centuries.”

The woman chuckled, dropping the bloodspattered knife into her shadow and watching it fall into nothingness. “Oh come on, you know you liked it too. You love the really over-dramatic stuff when I’m playing,” she said, clicking her wedge heels against the ground and jumping to Her side. “And you know, as much as I love the really cool weapons and the claws and, well, running everything, you know, sometimes I really miss the simple stuff.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right, the over the top acting does add a lot to the stories, as weird as you are for actually volunteering to be a player, but hey, whatever floats your boat. And as much as I hate saying it, I do owe you for being the game master while I was away,” the other woman grumbled, her voice trailing into near whispers and her pointed ears slightly twitching. “And I guess you did a pretty good job too.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it, dear,” the woman said, laying an arm over Her shoulders. “I mean, we’ve known each other for pretty close to forever. What’s a favor between buddies?”

“That’s cute you still think we’re friends,” the other woman said with an eye roll and a smirk, shoving off the arm and walking into the city streets. She followed close behind, watching as the people unconsciously passed around them as if they didn’t exist at all. There were fewer people out and about than she originally thought. “I don’t need to assume you got the message.”

“Heard it loud and clear,” she replied. “But I was assuming the other Followers would be the one to, you know, round us all up. I thought you were still getting everything together, preparing stuff, you know, doing special god things.”

“I meant the other one. You know, about finding his replacement.”

“Oh yeah!” the woman exclaimed, tapping a finger against her chin. “Right, yes, that thing, that is a very important thing that exists.”

“You forgot to do it, didn’t you?”

“Actually, no, I did do it, and I did find someone,” the woman said with a smile, grabbing a bit of shadows and absentmindedly molding it between her fingers. “I didn’t think anyone could possibly replace him, but I’m feeling pretty good about this one. Now, keep in mind, he’s a little on the young side and I don’t know if he’s completely on board yet, but I think we can win him over.”

“Well, this is probably a terrible idea, but I’ll trust you on this,” the blonde said, lazily inspecting the streetlights. “So, where is this new victi- I mean…potential candidate?”

“Oh, at the old church on Mayweather,” the woman said, opening her hands to show a small cathedral. It seemed to tug at the remaining daylight, sucking it deep within the false image while also faintly glowing in the dimming light. “I think I left him in the cemetery? That or the gardens. Or maybe the music room?”

“So somewhere within fifty miles of the church, got it, no problem at all,” the blonde grumbled, pinching her eyebrows together. “Well, I guess I should probably go talk to him or something, give him the whole spiel, try and convince him to join or die, excetera excetera…”

The woman gave a small sheepish grin and looked up into the heavens, watching the stars slowly dot the still barely lit sky. They had stopped under a streetlight, as if they were waiting for a bus that would never come. “How…is…he doing?”

“Oh honey, you don’t need to worry about him. He doesn’t matter anymore, you know this. You know what he did.” the other said sympathetically, lightly patting her on the cheek. Except Her touch was harsh and there was light shining within Her eyes, a haunting light yellow. She bared her fangs in a scowl. “Or do I need to remind you that he turned on us all and tried one by one to send the five of you to your deaths?” She was shaking now, all six eyes wide and red and Her voice echoing through the streets. “Do I need to remind you what he DID TO ME?”

“Honey, it’s okay. I remember that day better than anyone” the woman said, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. A small chill ran down her back as the memories of that awful day cropped up at the edges of her mind, the utter stillness of being trapped and helpless in a prison of her own making, only being able to watch in horror and fear as the battle raged overhead. “It’s okay. It’s over. It’s done. He’s gone now. We’re here. We’re safe.”

“Right,” the Murder God said with shaky breaths, light fading from her eyes. She took in a deep breath and let it out, the four eyes on her cheeks slowly fading away until all that remained were two symmetrical lines. “Right. Exactly. He’s a traitor. He doesn’t matter and he never did. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“Maybe you should go and see our new friend,” the woman suggested, offering Her the small cathedral sculpture. “I’ll just wait here for the others.”

“You know, that right there sounds like a good idea,” She muttered, moving all but a single hand out of the light. She paused and cupped a hand over the statue. “Thanks…old friend.”

“Anytime, Captain,” the woman said with a smile as the other woman vanished, disappearing into the night as if she hadn’t been there just now and had never been there anytime before. The little sculpture was nowhere to be found. The woman sighed, leaning her back against the lamppost and crossing her arms. The wind danced past her, picking up the cape and threatening to fly off into the night. She simply hugged the fabric closer to her body and waited. Waited for them to come to her.

“My lady, I was not expecting to see you out here,” a welcome voice said, stepping into the light and giving her a friendly smile. In the shadows beyond, three more silhouettes stood and waited. She returned the gesture, holding out one of her hands. He delicately took one and kissed the top of her still gloved hand.

“And I wasn’t expecting you to be here so soon,” she replied, throwing her arms around him and pulling the others into the light. Laughter and greetings rang through the streets as hugs and long overdue pleasantries were exchanged, oblivious to the rest of the world and the rest of the world equally ignorant of them. With open ears and ernest stories on their lips, they talked as a moonless night hovered above and five stars no one could remember appeared over the sprawling metropolitan area. The woman grinned.

Oh how good it was to be back.


	6. The Young Priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Stars in the Sky. If they had names to begin with, they have been lost to the long expanse of time. Now, they are known only by their titles and the death they bring in their wake in the name of their Lady, the Murder God. They are her generals of Eldritch, Arcane, Wilds, Unknowns, and Tempest. They are the Followers. And with the revival of the games, they have been called to arms.
> 
> The Generals have been gathered, but the sky is not complete. For She still needs one of her Admirals, the One to Paint the Canvas.

The brick walls rose high above the young man’s head, covered in interweaving vines and greenery whose name was just at the edges of his memory. He ran his fingertips over the low bushes and hedges, peering down the the rows of carefully cultivated daisies and roses separated by decorative hostas. While he shouldn’t have been able to see much of anything at all this time of night, the whole garden was lit up in the soft blue glow of moonflowers scattered throughout the otherwise picture perfect rows. One of those mysterious flowers, however, certainly would not be thriving in between the stone steps. Taking the shovel out of the small bag at his side, he carefully uprooted the small pale flower and carried it over to one of the hosta patches.

“You know, it’s never going to bloom as brightly as the others,” a strange female voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and ringing deep within his skull. “It’s already so much smaller and so sickly. Honestly, it would make better fertilizer than anything else at this point.” The young man shivered, nearly dropping the plant in his hands. He didn’t have to turn around to know there was someone standing right behind him. But he kept digging. 

“Maybe, but it’s not the flower’s fault the seed decided to land where it did,” he replied, placing the roots into the damp soil and piling the excess around the base. “Better soil, more light and water, and a little helping hand can make all the difference.” He delicately touched the petals of the pale flower, watching as the stem and leaves perked up, reaching for the skies above until it towered over the resting hostas and shone with a brilliant blue light.

“Oh great, another one with needlessly flowery language, exactly what I needed at this exact moment in time and space,” the woman grumbled. He could feel her eyes on him, gazing over his sweater vest and collared shirt, or rather, maybe it was more accurate to say he could feel her gazing through him instead. She made a small click with her tongue; he didn’t need to see the smirk splitting her face. “Well well well, this is going to be a bit of a problem, now isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am is something wrong?” he slowly asked, carefully standing up and brushing the dirt off of his trousers. He caught a glimpse of a transparent red dress and delicate black heels, still trying to keep his eyes on anything else but the woman. Steady now. Don’t be rash. Play it safe.

“You know, I was going to reassure you and say ‘no, everything’s fine’, but you’re kind of missing a soul there, bud,” she replied, Her gaze moving towards his hair, colored not unlike the very bricks that he just passed by. “And that’s kind of important in the grand scheme of things, you know?”

“Is it though?” the young man asked with a chuckle.

“I mean, if we want this conversation to continue in a more…civil manner, I kind of need a soul,” she replied. A strange yellow light fell to his sides, light that was slowly fading into a deep orange. Before long, the stones were bathed in an eerie blood red. Well. This was…not exactly going how he’d imagined an encounter with the literal incarnation of death and murder would, but all things considered, it wasn’t as bad as he expected it to be. He was still alive; he honestly didn’t think he’d get that far.

“Does it have to be my soul?” he asked, slowly reaching into his bag and pulling out a tightly sealed glass jar. There was a small glowing ball inside, surrounded by ethereal ribbons of colored light and giving off a comforting amount of heat even through the thick glass. Taking in a sharp breath, he whipped around and held out the jar in front of his face. Standing there was a woman he had several inches on, her hair the color of early morning sunlight and her ears ending in dainty tips. A small black star rested on her collarbone, visible through the sheer mesh at the top of her dress. There was a curious smile on her face.

“So you’re a clever one then? You’ve got moxie. I’ll give you that,” she said with a raised eyebrow, reaching out one of her stained hands and pushing the jar down until he was forced to look her in the eyes. “So, what’s your name, kid?”

“Uh…call me…Cole Hector,” he slowly replied. He blinked a few times, wondering if what he was seeing was real. If anything he was seeing was real.

“Cute nickname, almost believable too,” she said with a cackle that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. “And you know about the name rules too, this is just getting better and better.” The smile turned into a wicked smirk. “Okay, smart guy…what’s your story?”

“You tell me. That’s kind what you do, after all,” he replied, returning with a weak smile of his own. He glanced down at the small wisp in his hands, holding the jar more tightly to his chest.

“You’re right, I could tell you about your missing parents. Or your fight to put food on the table. Or your poor sickly sister. Or that right now, you’re about as alone in this world as anyone could possibly be because that little soul in your hands probably could’ve saved her, but no, she decided to be a martyr and give it to her dearest brother who she loved more than life itself. But that’s just the boring facts that no one really pays attention to anyways,” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand and a glint in her eyes, her words sharper than any dagger in her arsenal.

“They might be boring facts, but that’s the only life I’ve ever known,” the young man said, gripping the small jar hard enough to turn his fingers white. “And that was her choice. Not mine.”

“A little on the defensive side, are we? Did I hit a sore spot? I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” the woman remarked with what could’ve equally been a sarcastic smirk or a genuine smile. She yawned, clicking her heels and turning her back to him in one smooth movement. “Come, walk with me.”

Nearly tripping over the uneven stones, he followed her down a meandering stone path that took them out of the walled gardens and into the iron wrought fences of the cemetery. The marble tombstones had been eaten away by the acidity of the rain, blacked and barely legible after all of these years. Freshly cut flowers were draped over the granite monuments, some of them clearly cut from the rows they had just been walking while others looked to be brought in from outside. Just like the gardens, the whole plot was lit up by dozens upon dozens of moonflowers. He shifted in his shoes, waiting for her to make another of her witty remarks and just say something, anything. The silence pressed down on his shoulders as if the sky was collapsing.

“Why am I here?” he finally asked, though it came out as more of a distressed sputter.

“Because you bought Old Priestess a bus ticket and she liked you enough to dump you here and send me on what I was pretty sure was a wild goose chase up until about, oh, seven minutes ago,” the woman said, casually inspecting one of the grave markers and tracing the name carved into the worn stone.

“No, why am I here?” he asked, setting down the jar on one of the larger monuments and turning to face her. “The other woman, when I told her about the book and about, well, slight curiosity in finding you, she said that she was…looking for a replacement, someone who could be one of your elite…I think she used the word Followers? And if that’s referring who I’m thinking, then…why me? I’m not one of your cultists, I don’t have anything really special to offer except making flowers bloom, I’m not really one for bloodshed to begin with, I’m…nothing compared to them. Why would you, why would _they_ , need me?”

The woman finished tracing the carved name, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Well, you’re right. They don’t need you at all. Their job is to go out into the world and, well, mostly do what they want up until I need them to rally the forces or do something really specific, but between the five of them, they’ve got everything they need to wreak havoc to their heart’s desires,” she said with a smirk. “No, see, honey…I’m the one that needs you.”

“You… _what?”_

“Tell me, what do you know about my games?”

“Uh…um… there’s usually ten people or more people in a game,” he stammered, ticking off his fingers and trying to keep his voice level. “You have two werewolves, a seer, a witch, a gunslinger, a gardener, and then four regular townsfolk. The werewolves pick a person to die each night, and everyone has to try and figure out who the werewolves are, who’s got the special roles, and who’s just a regular person. The seer can figure out people’s roles, the witch can both save a person and kill a person, and the gunslinger can kill someone if they get killed.”

“What about the gardener?” she asked, plucking one of the moonflowers out of the ground and twirling it between her fingertips.

The young man hesitated for a second. “Well…the gardener doesn’t really…do much of anything from a gameplay standpoint. They just…give people nice things.” 

“Alright, now, I want you to to repeat what you just said, but this time, explain what all of those roles do from a storytelling standpoint,” the woman said, picking off the petals one by one and dropping them to the ground.

“Um…well…” he slowly said, tapping a finger against his chin and furrowing his brow. “Obviously the werewolves are the antagonists of the story. Without them, there’s no conflict and there’s really not much of a story to tell at all. They drive the story along by force, but they’re vulnerable because no matter what game they play, they’re always outnumbered. The seer fulfils the opposing role, given they’re the best chance the townsfolk have at surviving, at the risk of being highly exposed should they say anything. They add suspense because everyone knows they’re there; it’s just a matter of when they’re going to play their hand.”

He started pacing in front of the monument, one eye on the glass jar and the other on the woman. “The witch…well, the witch adds variability, excitement. They can save someone and kill someone, and no one knows how either will get used. Maybe they’ll save themselves, maybe they’ll kill someone innocent, maybe they’ll actually get the right person with a lucky guess. Who knows? As for the gunslinger, they’re…I guess they embody a strange sense of justice? While the other townsfolk are defenseless and can only use their words, they can take matters into their own hands if their life is in danger. There’s nothing they can do to save themselves, nothing they can do to right this wrong, but they sure can take someone with them.”

“And the gardener…the gardener.” The young man faltered, his paces slowing to a halt as the gears that had been whirring in his head skidded to an abrupt halt. “Well, the gardener is…well, I’m not really…sure…” 

“Wow, you actually just took the time to say all of that. Cut out the overly descriptive narration and I might actually be impressed,” the woman said with a chuckle, letting the stripped moonflower stem fall to the earth. With a small huff, she jumped onto the tombstone and let her legs dangle off the side. “Sit down, won’t you? I want to tell you a story.”

“You still really haven’t answered my questio-”

“SIT.”

The young man immediately grabbed the jar, crossed his legs, and dropped to the grass.

“That’s better,” she said with a smug smile, lightly tapping her heels against the stone. “You know, I’ve been running the games for, let’s say, a really long time. And you know, I really enjoy it. Building up the worlds, crafting scenarios, watching it all unfold and seeing my insufferable meatsacks play around. The thing is, after a while, the games started getting boring, and that’s a problem because boring games don’t make for good stories. And there’s no easy fix to that either. More roles meant there wouldn’t be enough townsfolk, and more people mean the games get kinda messy and then I have to do more work. But a townsfolk who just helped build up the atmosphere and make the games feel a little more real? Now, that I could do.”

She tilted her head to the side and grinned, giving him a glimpse of her pointed fangs. “The problem was that I’m sometimes a little too…how should I say…removed from my players and games and, well, there are some details that a mortal eye is better at picking out,” she continued with a casual hand gesture. “So I went and started looking for another Follower and just so happened to meet a nice young man so full of life and so ready not to die. Was a pilot, good man, kind heart. His plane crashed during a battle and instead of pleading for his life, he only asked for me to end the fighting and save his family.”

She snickered, the sound grating on his ears and making him want to dig his eardrums out of his skull. “Well, naturally I thought his compassion could be useful to me and I made him into my Young Priest,” she said, mindlessly tapping the top of the tombstone. “And he was really good at his job. He could build up worlds and mold personalities like he was playing with clay, and he had this spark he put into the players. He made them remember what it was like to be alive, for the games to have stakes and for life and death to mean something. He gave them back their humanity. He gave them hope. And man did it bring the games back to life.”

“But he ended up being more…human than I thought,” the woman said with a sneer that slowly formed into a sly smile and holding out her hand. “But that’s not important. What is important is right now, my games are about to start back up, and if this is going to be as good of a run as I think it’s going to be, I’m going to need my gardener.”

The young man peered into the woman’s eyes, seeing the red and yellow chaos swirl through her irises. He studied at the delicate soul in his hands, feeling the warmth emitting from something that he had sacrificed everything to obtain. He stared at the moonflowers around the cemetery, following their light to the stars above and found five stars he was sure had not been there before.

He stood up and held out the jar.

With a wave of her hand, it flew out of his hands and settled just under her palms. In one motion, she twisted off the top and touched the soul. He watched as it faded into her skin, the stains on her arms seemingly growing darker, though that could have been a trick of the dimming light. She gazed into his eyes, a sadistic grin splitting her face.

“Your name.”

He told her. And he fell.

“You’ve made the correct choice. Just relax. This won’t take long at all,” She said, drawing a strange symbol with Her finger into the air. His body felt like it was made of lead; he could barely even lift his eyes to watch Her movements. “You’re mine now.”

“C…Captain, may I ask a question?”

“Of course, my sweet.”

“My…job is to give the players their humanity…right? To give them…hope in that desolate place they can never escape. Isn’t that…really cruel?”

The Murder God smiled.

“You’ll make a wonderful Young Priest.” 

Blood red light filled his vision. Then a soft blue glow. Then nothing at all.


	7. The Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: The Generals have been gathered, the youngest of the Admirals is turning, but what of the one who needed to be replaced.
> 
> He is the Traitor, the One Who Never Should Have Been. The Villain of their Story...but perhaps the Hero of his own.
> 
> Lyrics by Unirob

Needle thin heels clicked against the tile floor, echoing around the dimly lit corridors. The hall was built for someone who did not need high ceilings or a large wingspan, the walls giving off the distinct vibe of being just one misstep away from being squashed like a bug. There were no windows, no plants, no wall hooks, no weapons in sight. It was obscenely pragmatic, almost maddening in its cold and calculated efficiency. She didn’t enjoy coming here; it had no character, no personality, nothing that it made it even remotely interesting. Not that it was supposed to be pleasant for anyone.

Her steps slowing, she came to the end of the hallway and found herself face to face with a dead end. Putting a hand to the smooth wall, the unnamed substance fell away like water cascading down a waterfall to reveal a large open chamber. It was pitch black, sucking in the small amount of light from the hall and smothering it in inky goop. If the halls were devoid of decorations, at least there had been some slight texture to the walls and shine on the floors; this room truly had nothing. Nothing except for an unconscious man floating in the center of the room, chains wrapped around all four of his limbs.

“Congratulations, you absolute waste of flesh and bone, you’ve been replaced,” the Murder God said with a wry smile and a slow clap. The man didn’t so much as move. “My new Young Priest is already talking with his colleagues. I think they’ve taken a liking to him already.”

Stretching out her shoulders, she yawned a little. “What was it that you said with those big words and deadly hubris when you pointed that dagger at me and threatened to cut out my heart?” she asked, not really expecting him to response. “Oh that’s right, that you’d be the last of my servants, that you’d failed to protect the ones you loved from suffering your fate, but you’d at the very least you’d protect the innocent. Well, I hope you’re happy to know that now, you’ll never be able to do either.”

She bared her fangs and slowly curled two fingers, inching the man closer to where she stood. “It’s really a shame. You had so much potential. But no, you had to still have that human heart of yours that loved your son and was devastated to learn that maybe I hadn’t given you all the details of our bargain,” she said with a cackle and a sigh, her voice even but her eyes swimming with rage. “You gave the players back their memories, broke my games, exiled my right hand and my oldest friend, stabbed my witch, cast my advisor into the chaos wastes, banished my huntress, and then, after all of that, thought you could take me. You thought you of all people could kill me. How quaint.”

All six eyes now open, her form wavered and shifted until her dress was in tatters and dark mangled scars trailed across her arms and cheeks. Her dagger appeared in hand, bordering between the realm of reality and illusion as she held it up to his throat. “But you forgot something, _Vincent Marshall Reid…_ ” she seethed, throwing her voice across the chamber and magnifying it until the walls cracked and bones shook. “You don’t _HAVE_ any power. _NOTHING_ you did matters and _NOTHING_ you do ever will. They all forgot, my Followers still live, and you _LOST_. You are _MINE_. And you will _ALWAYS. BE. MINE_.”

The darkness shattered and the man dropped to the floor in a heap, the chains broken around his limp body. Taking the dagger, she slammed it into the wall and watched as it fazed into nothingness. Her body still shaking and her breaths coming in rapid spurts, she closed the extra eyes and watched as the memories faded into the wind and everything returned to normal. It was fine. Everything was fine. Nearly screeching out her frustrations, she turned away from the room and started to walk away.

“Y-you…haven’t…won… not yet,” a voice croaked out. There was a slight shuffling, the sound of someone trying to prop themselves up. “I…won’t let you…you can’t…keep me down forever…I know your weakness…I know your-”

“No you don’t. You don’t know anything,” the Murder God said, snapping her fingers. The man’s eyes rolled back in his skull and he dropped to the floor again. “You’re just one of my players.” Her eyes flashed red and she grinned. “Now, get some rest, _Samuel_ …you’ll need it for tomorrow’s game.”

The floor swallowed the man up and he was gone, falling into the endless abyss of pawns. With a laugh known to make mortals go mad, she spun on her heels and began the long walk. As the clicks once again filled the narrow walls and the world melted away, she smiled and hummed a little tune on her lips.

_Discord Murder Party, let’s see who’s gonna die_

_The God of Death is ready to see who has to say bye bye_

_It could be a writer or a nurse_

_But why does the seer always die first_

_Discord Murder Party, get ready for a game of blood and death._

_It was time._

_Let the games begin._


End file.
